Burn-Out Poem by Ana Podarevska

burn-out without any use in his life.
in a year or two, he'll be a burn-out
burnt out even more.
they see no questioning reflections in his eyes,
or gorgeous, spitting lacerations in his heart.
to them, his veins are full of junk,
full of drugs, worthless.
but he intoxicates me to the highest degree
he injects tastes in me of what he's seen;
opening me to exhales of visions,
inhales of passions
and reckless taking with so much desire.
with so short a life, of course he'll burn out.
and while the rest of them fade,
i'll burn out too.